Chapter 67: I Killed the King (Volas)

The morning is quiet. Everyone waits and hides in their trenches. Every bow’s string is strung, every ballista primed, and the lighting cannons hum with ancient magical energies. The Dogs are coming. The familiar clatter of their black iron armour rings closer and closer. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, are marching.
Huson pulls his sword in and out of his scabbard with his thumb as a calming ritual. His eyes scan the open field as he waits for the sight of the enemy. Olivia cowers near me, shivering as the marching reminds her of the slaughter of my previous battle. As the clanking gets closer, she pulls a blanket over her head to drown out the noise.
Meanwhile, I stand ready, my war horn in my left hand while the other rubs against the blunt end of my war hammer. My breath picks up, my anxiety building upon itself as it becomes clear that the Dogs are here. I have faith in my soldiers and support to not mess things up and attack without my direct orders. Yet there is an itch at the back of my skull reminding me that my predecessor also had people like them under his command, and yet, he lost.
No, I have to put faith in them. The Gods gave me an army most worthy, even if some of them are sick. I have the elements of the Pretorian Guard and the Dragon Fleet. The warriors of the church are with me, and they will carry with them the blessing of the divine. I will not lose this day.
The Dogs get into view, marching in columns of hundreds as they follow the path we made. The sight of their numbers causes Huson’s breathing to hitch. There is no doubt that they outnumber us. At most, I have seven hundred soldiers under my command. Less because of disease. However, we have what they don’t. The element of surprise.
Their leader, Marak. Marches from the front with a piece of cloth covering his right eye. He is even missing a left hand. There is no doubt it is him, however, his large form is recognisable even from here. But something is strange about the Dog formations. Their weapons are hanging low; they are not as alert as they used to be, nor did we encounter any of their scouts. This is out of character for them if they are marching near the capital. What are they planning? This isn’t a war march; where are the songs? The cries that they will have their victory? They are just as silent as we are, but they don’t have the same will to fight as we do. Perhaps the war has beaten their spirits down so much. The Dogs are as tired as we are.
I raise the horn to my lips, my breath hot as they get into position. Counting down from ten, following the beat of Marak’s footsteps as he gets closer and closer to mark.
Ten, nine, eight.
Some Dogs shake their heads, water sprays from their fur as they keep moving.
Seven, six, five.
The Dogs look down as they march. I can barely tell if anyone bothers to look up or even in our direction. They lost their vigilance.
Four, three, two.
My heart slows as Marak approaches the marker, exposing his army’s flank to me. It will be like slicing open the belly of a deer.
One.
With the blow of my horn, a hail of signal bombs flies and explodes into the Dog formations. The Dogs scatter and panic, blinded by the sudden flash and loud bangs of the bombs. Some bump into each other, further shattering their formation as they struggle to find an appropriate way to respond to my attack.
I blow my horn twice in rapid succession. There is nothing else I can do besides see it all unfold. I stand and watch as every arrow, bolt, and lightning cannon fire into their ranks. The first volley of the lightning cannons smashes against the earth and spews dirt and gore into the air. The loud bang that follows forces the world to go silent, with the only sound being the ring that buzzes in my ear.
Electric energies lacerate and vaporise the Dog hordes in an instant. They fired a second time, breaking what is left of their resistance. There isn’t a need to fire their weapons for a third time, yet they did anyway. All it achieves is destroying the field the Dogs were marching on. A decisive massacre. Hundreds scream, crying out as they were butchered by the dozen. Yet I stand there, watching as they die.
Olivia clings to my leg. I can tell she is screaming and crying, but I can’t hear her. The symphony of death and destruction is playing out, and it requires my attention. I push her off me, now isn’t the time to be distracted. She has to cry on her own.
I lower my horn away from my lips. There is no need for a charge. Arrows and bolts darken the sky and strike all around them while the rays of light slice through the Dogs like a hot knife through butter. I watch not a battle or an ambush, but a slaughter of my own design. The perfect killing field, the perfect murder that will end this war once and for all. A blow so brutal that most cultures will see this act as cowardly. How I have taken the dishonourable path and chose to kill a ruler that way. No respect or dignity. Just strategy. From seeing how confused and how easy the Dogs are being cut down from where I stand. They will be right. This is cowardly.
My soldiers keep launching arrows or firing bolts. The Pretorian Guard fires rays of light while the elements of the Dragon Fleet ready their lightning cannons for another volley, just in case the Dogs put up a fight. Even if they never will. A cacophony of violence, and I allow it. The Dogs run; they know the fight is already over.
‘…las… Volas!’ My hearing returns as Huson shouts my name. I turn to him to see what he wants. ‘Should we send in the cavalry?’
Yes… yes we should. I blow the horn three times, calling for everyone to cease their attacks as our warriors run in from around the hill to prepare their charge. Only to stop to see that the battle is over. Besides fierce warriors that went against our Empire, they are instead welcomed by a field of blood and mud. I don’t need them to charge. I need them to finish off the remaining dead and secure the area. I doubt there is anything alive to capture, unless someone can perform a miracle and get the dead to speak. Though if they did, the only thing we would hear would be screams.
My army cheers, hugging each other as they chant their own victory songs. The war is over, we have one. Olivia tries to cling to me, sobbing as she shakes in terror. I ignore her, leaving her in a puddle of her tears as I look out at the field.
Why don’t I feel happy or relieved that this is over? Instead, for some reason, a sense of guilt washes over me. My gut tells me I made a mistake, that I shouldn’t have done this. It will be best to ignore that feeling; I have to focus now. The war must come to a close.
I scan the field, searching for Marak to confirm that their king is dead. I need to make sure this is all over! My brow arches as I notice the familiar glint of his armour in the field.
‘Stay here with Olivia.’ I order Huson with my warhammer at the ready. He calls for me, but I don’t pay attention. While I walk over my trench line and pass cheerful soldiers, my focus remains on his body. Lying on his side with a ballista bolt sticking out from his stomach.
An Outrider approaches him and notices the brute is barely alive. Before he can spear Marak in the neck to finish him off. I shout an order for the man to leave him. Something comes out of my mouth that is not my own, and my mind can’t even pay attention to what I am doing. But it works, the soldier listens and gallops away as I approach the wounded slave king.
The world darkens around me, except for him. He is the only person in my vision, the only person I can see.
Marak lies on the ground, clenching his stomach as blood pools out of him. He sneers at me, blood seeping from his lips as his left cloudy eye glares into my own. I stare down at him, the man who started it all. The one who freed his fellow slaves and fought against the Empire, the reason my friend is dead. He looks so strong, a majestic brute that united his people through violence. Yet I stand over him, victorious, yet empty inside.
Marak moves his lips, using every ounce of energy to speak. ‘Bastard!’
‘The war is over, Marak. You lost.’ I respond, reciting what I want to say to him for so long.
‘I came for peace!’ Marak spits out blood, coughing in agony before taking off his helmet to take in deep breaths. ‘I sh… shouldn’t have trusted… you…’
Peace!? What does he mean by peace? He marched here with an army; he came here with a large force to fight me! There is no intention of peace. That piece of garbage! He is tricking me, trying to mask his failure under the disguise of peace.
‘You came for war. There was nothing peaceful about this.’ I respond, straightening my back to appear stronger than him.
He growls, only to cut himself off to cough a bit more. ‘I sent a letter… to parlay.’ His wrathful one eye locks onto me. ‘Demons!’
I ready my hammer as he slumps to his side. I grit my teeth, ready to bash his skull right there and end it right here. To have the final blow over the great tyrant of the South and be proclaimed the victor of this war.
Yet my body refuses to move. It freezes there while he slowly bleeds to death. Eventually, his last breath escapes his body while I stand there to watch it happen. How he is too weak to lift his own body to fight back, to shout anymore insults. I watch how the greatest enemy this island has ever had dies at my feet.
In disgust, I drop my hammer. There is no point in having weapons anymore. Not when this is all over. We have won, the war is over, now we have to clean up the mess.
There is something about his corpse. Marak rebels against our Empire, and yet, he dies like the rest of them. He looks so… unremarkable. Uninteresting. Yet I can’t help but feel… remorse.
Most kings and Generals will meet their deaths on the battlefield. He died from an ambush, a trap of my own design just for him. He and maybe thousands died because of me. Not a single soul on our side is lost, perhaps the best military victory in Cinaris history. Though in truth, I doubt anyone can call it that.
As I stare at his corpse, I wonder if this is really a victory. Did I just end a chance for a peaceful resolution? With all of this killing and all of this brutality, have I put the final nail in the coffin and end something better?
An Outrider rides up to me. She looks down at me from her horse with a wide smile. ‘General! We found Cinari prisoners not so far from here. There are hundreds of them.’
That doesn’t make sense. Why will the Dogs bring all of their prisoners here on a war march? Even if they are going to set up a new campground, the slaves should be far away and only brought to the new base when the Dogs have secured that ground. Shouldn’t they be with camps or at least far away from the battlefield?
‘Free them,’ I order him. ‘Tell them the war is over. We are heading home.’
As the Outrider takes her leave. My gut turns, my ears lower as I look down at Marak’s lifeless eyes.
What have I done?